You know you're old when...

You begin to look forward to summer for the simple reason that it means you can breathe.

I can't say that 2016 has been a bad year, but it's been a hard year. Every several years as a teacher, you get a year where you think it can't get anymore bat-shit crazy than it already is, but it does. Those are the worst years. This year is one of those.

I had already told Phil before Christmas that this summer I was not working full-time. I was not going to run a summer camp. I was not going to wait tables. I was just not.

And the good news is that I'm not. I'm teaching one college class and working on my dissertation for my next residency.

This is, end-of-year-teacher-tired.

It's still going to be a lot, but it won't be the insanity that was this year. I am hopeful that next year will be easier and won't have the personal stuff with it all too.

My grandmother is pretty sick and my cat, Jack Nicholson, was just diagnosed with diabetes and a heart murmur. His heart is actually the size of my fist. I've only had him for a year and he had spent much of his life being a NYC tom cat. Scary when I think that when I got him, he had a clean bill of health other than a cold that antibiotics quickly took away. Now, for the rest of his little cat life I will have to give him insulin shots. We have the consult with the vet specialist on Friday and I am not looking forward to this at all. I can get shots, but giving them skeeves me out. Probably one of the big reasons that after Rutgers, I went on for teaching instead of nursing.

 

The guys. Jack & Milo

I think the most unnerving of everything with Jack Nicholson is that when I look at photos of him from before, he's a big, meaty lynx point and now he's a patchy haired skeleton that sits on my feet purring and lays on the floor licking his butt and farting into his own face. There was a time where he was a lot more...err..regal than that.

If you'd like to donate to help with Jack Nicholson's ever-growing vet bill-- I set up a go fund me...here.

To end on a happy note...guys, look at my beautiful bathroom:

 

Our 2nd Anniversary & the Power of the Universe

I had this dream the other night about Bad Love. Up until that point, I couldn't even tell you the last time I had thought about him let alone had a dream about him. It was very strange. We met at what I think was a cafe and he sat in front of me and told me how he wanted to make it work out. All I kept saying was, "what about Phil?" He eventually starts getting frustrated with this answer and stops talking. It's one of those heavy, awkward silences that's almost painful. I get his attention again and I go, "You know what? I don't need you anymore."

And just like that, he got up and left. Then, I woke up.

"Been around the world so many times,I'm of the air, I'm of the sky. I wonder what my feet need the ground for, no one sing lullabies no more."

Fast forward to last night when my friend Catie and I were working on editing my latest manuscript because I promised myself that this was the year I was going to publish as much as I could. It's another manuscript that I had written and worked on and off on for several years...I would just always get nervous having people read my stuff. Which is really stupid when I think about how much of my stuff is out there for people to read. Anyway, this leads to discussion of Bad Love and the dream I had.

And then...it happened. When Bad Love and I were dating, he drew a picture of the Eiffel Tower for me. I so loved it. It was beautiful and it was my favorite place-- PARIS! It was the one thing I kept from that relationship over the years. It lived in a book case and it matched two more drawings I had acquired from a thrift store of the Arc de Triomphe and Sacre Coeur. Phil came into the room holding the broken frame and apologizing that it was the strangest thing, it just toppled out of and off the bookcase, breaking into four different pieces. Every other picture that's in there is still there, including the one that was in front of the drawing. Phil also had no idea what I was talking about to Catie at that moment because we were facebook messaging.

How creepy is that? The universe is very clearly wrapping up a brief chapter of my life that I turned into an extremely long chapter by using Bad Love as an excuse to date tool bag wannabe band boys.

Today also marks the two year anniversary of when Phil and I sat in an Applebee's drinking and eating hamburgers and playing never have I ever with a napkin. We were "official" by the end of that date and I think that was really only our 3rd or 4th date overall. We pretty much met and that was it, the rest were just formalities. Two years later, having backpacked across Europe together, gone to Disney World, adopted a dog and bought a house-- I can say that we have definitely been busy :0).

We spent the day today shoveling out from the monster blizzard we had and recuperating. I actually took a nap today that how run down and tired I feel with all that's going on. I'm thankful to have a snow day tomorrow and I'm also thankful that I got to be snowed in on my anniversary with the man I love, our dopey dog and our silly cats. It was definitely one of those super awesome weekends where you didn't have much of anything to do and you just got to be with your person.

Getting to watch Molly almost somersault backwards because she got stuck in a snow drift on our deck was also pretty priceless.  

Book Review: The Botticelli Secret by Marina Fiorato

Steeped in the turmoil of the non-unified Italy of the 1400's, Marina Fiorato skillfully weaves a detailed and evasive mystery around one of Botticelli's more famous paintings, Primavera or Allegory of Spring. The painting is packed with meaning alone, but Fiorato takes the painting to an entirely new level in her book, The Botticelli Secret.

Painted in 1482, the Primavera was created by Italian Renaissance artist Sandro Botticelli. He was of the Florentine school and worked during the Early Renaissance or Qauttrocento. It is suggested that the allegory had been petitioned by the Medici family.

The work is largely accepted as an allegory of springtime; however, other themes and meanings have been explored, including the idea that the painting illustrates the ideal of Neoplatonic love. For Fiorato, the painting serves as the basis for her art history mystery in her novel.

Fiorato opens her novel with the introduction of her heroine- common whore by the name of Luciana Vetra. She is described as a classical beauty, with long flowing ringlets and a sharp tongue from the four years that she spent on the streets of Florence. She is aptly named for how she arrived in Florence. Her origins for much of the novel are unknown, but from the beginning Luciana speaks of her uncommon arrival in the city- as a baby washed-up on the shores of the city in a glass bottle.

The reader is quickly drawn to her, despite her abrasiveness and crassness that are abundant in the earlier part of the novel, but softens as she finds herself and finds love during the course of the story. Her flaws make Luciana realistic and easy to relate to, despite the over-the-top mystery and life that she eventually gets swept up in to.

Fiorato's story of Luciana, Primavera and the mystery that engulfs everything is skillfully rendered and so lush that the reader easily gets immersed in the world of what Italy was like during the early part of the Renaissance. Fiorato leaves nothing to the imagination and stays away from romanticizing the period, leaving the reader with a raw and detailed depiction of what life was like during the time that Botticelli lived and worked.

The Botticell Secret by Marina Fiorato was originally published in April of 2010. It is available for purchase through St. Martin's Griffin, New York with ISBN 978-0-312-60636-7.

Book Review: Sunflowers by Sheramy Bundrick

Art historian and professor, Sheramy Bundrick shines in her debut novel about the final years of Dutch painter, Vincent Van Gogh.

There is nothing easy about writing historical fiction. Once a writer adds art into the mix, the project becomes something entirely different as many artists, especially those like Vincent Van Gogh are not so easily defined. Furthermore, having the ability to blend factual art historical information with the fiction a writer creates, is difficult and can often produce novels that are more of a creation as opposed to a well-researched, factual backdrop with a fictional story also added for entertainment.

This, however, is not the case with Sheramy Bundrick's Sunflowers. As an art historian and professor, Bundrick brings to the table a strong set of skills and research that are more than evident in her fictional retelling of the final two years of Dutch painter Vincent Van Gogh's troubled life. She recounts with some liberty, the time that the struggling artist spent with a young woman named Rachel – the very same lady that would be presented with a fragment of his ear.

In reality, there is nearly nothing that has survived in history about the real Rachel, other then a document that lists her name, address, occupation and that she was the woman Van Gogh asked for at the brothel to present her with a piece of his ear. Other artists such as Bernard and Gauguin mention Rachel in their writings and letters only in passing, referring to her as the "cafe girl" or "a wretched girl" respectively.

Irregardless of the reality of the factual, historical relationship between Van Gogh and Rachel, Bundrick writes her story having imagined what it might have been like had there been a relationship between the two people while incorporating factual information regarding the time period and Van Gogh's work.

Moreover, Bundrick creates this mixture of fantasy and art historical fact seamlessly. She captivates her readers from the very first page and does not let them go until they reach the inevitable end of both the novel and of Vincent Van Gogh. Her intricate descriptions make her readers feel as though they are part of the dingy cafe where Vincent and Rachel meet to talk, part of the garden where he draws her and even part of the city and busyness of the city of Arles as a whole.

Overall, Sheramy Bundrick's work is captured best through Susan Vreeland, author of Life Studies, " [Bundrick] lays bare in rich, compelling scenes the mystery of the turbulent and misunderstood final two years in Van Gogh's life." Sunflowers is a gem of a first novel and makes for an interesting glimpse into the mental decline of one of the world's most famous artists.

Sunflowers – A Novel of Vincent Van Gogh by Sheramy Bundrick is available for purchase through Avon with ISBN 0061765279.

Grief, Not Guilt by Jeanann Verlee

I wish you a tongue scalded by tea.
A hangover. Burnt toast. Stubbed toes. A lost job.
I wish you weeping in the shower. Salt in the sugar bowl.
A wishlist of sorrows. Grief, not guilt.
"Hole in your favorite coat. Stain on the good suit.
Arthritis for your joints. A broken guitar string at every show.
I wish each breath a little harder. Each workday
an hour longer. I wish your heart a thousand breaks.
All your sports teams, bottom rank. I wish your friends
go quiet. The leaves brown above your head.
A thunderstorm every morning. Nothing but pearls
when you shop for her diamond. I wish you bad knees,
a sore back. Empty sheets. A ghost to haunt your house.
A tub brimming with mud. Closet stuffed with too-small shoes.
Flat beer. Sour milk. Weak coffee. I wish you
flat tires, soggy pasta, a tax audit to fail.
Bent forks, dull knives. A hangnail for every finger.
I wish you a room wallpapered with my photographs.
A chamber filled with empty bassinets."

Pretty much, pretty much. 

The Search for Mr. Fabulous: Olivia Pope Says It Best

"I am not a toy that you can play with when you're bored or lonely or horny. I am not the girl the guy gets at the end of the movie. I am not a fantasy. If you want me, earn me! Until then, we are done."

- Olivia Pope, Scandal

Book Review: Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer

The story of Chris McCandless isn't exactly new. There were plenty of young men before him and plenty after him that believed, almost arrogantly, in their intelligence and ability so much so that they felt that even against the strength and almighty power of nature at its most wild that they would win out regardless of how ill-prepared they were for their journey. McCandless was a smart, well-educated twenty something from a well-off suburb of Virginia. His family, friends and those that knew him described him as such adding that, Chris often liked to be alone, not in the sense of being a "loner" and all that that term conjures, but in that, Chris didn't mind being alone and often was, finding ways to entertain himself.

He enjoyed wandering. He took long trips across the US and would often disappear for long stretches of time. After his graduation from Emory University, McCandless did just that. He packed up and left, eventually getting rid of his car, possessions and even burning what little money he had on him. From there, he drifts all over the West before finally trekking into the Alaskan bush country with ill-fitting boots and little to no food on him.

He plans to live off the land and strike out on his own totally negating the fact that he does not have the supplies needed nor has he taken the time to build the skill set that is needed to survive in the wilderness. Ultimately, the end of Chris McCandless is evident and it's easy to write him off as a know-it-all kid that got in over his head and paid the ultimate price.

And in some parts I do have to agree with that. He had a comfortable life set up for him and he gave it all away to pretty much tell his parents, up their's. On the other hand, Krakauer also includes stories of other boys who did the same as McCandless including stories of his own rebellion and his stupidity and near-death experience in trying to climb the Stikine Ice Cap. He spoke of how in your early twenties you grasp mortality, but your own seems so far off and something you're incapable to completely understanding that you slmost want to push yourself into the tip of it, the brink in order to look down on it and feel it.

Which, I get. It reminded me of how when I was 23, I went sky-diving and nothing makes you feel mortal and face your own mortality more than throwing yourself out of a plane and plummeting to earth with nothing but some flimsy material to save you. It was exciting, thrilling and it took away any and all control I had over myself and my well-being. It was exhilarating and something I probably will never do again.

Overall, did Chris McCandless over do it on the rebellion? Heck yes! But, his story and John Krakuer's take on it does make for a good read.

And then there's always the 2007 Sean Penn  movie adaptation which boasts lots of beautiful scenes and enough Eddie Vedder to keep any Pearl Jam enthusiast satiated:

Score: 5/5
Book Information: Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer was reissued on August 21, 2007 through Anchor Books with ISBN 978-0307387172.

The Search for Mr. Fabulous: What I Don't Get About Guys

And probably never will, but it just gets me.

I had a friend that has her own band boy. When she talks about it I just go UGH can't they both just become BFF, form a jerk club and run off into the sunset together? All the while vowing to never again try to date another girl because they're just going to do the same to her.

It won't happen, but one can dream.

So, the thing that gets me and I will never understand? Ok. Ready? Ready.

I will never understand the kind of guys that play a big game. I mean the type that say that they want a relationship with you, tell you that they love you and that they want to have a life with you, but then one day, usually very soon after they profess all that go, oh wait, never mind, he no longer has those feelings, but I still want to talk to you everyday and be your BFF because I do love you.

Wait. What?

I've had it happen to me twice. The first was Matt, my first real "adult" relationship after college. He literally called me up one day after our first strained part of our relationship and goes, "I thought I love you, but I don't. It stopped growing."

My response? "Well, then this is done." Followed by a long bloated silence. To which I finally say, "hello?"

"I can't believe you just said that to me," he responds.

Er. Didn't you just after a year of dating me  and talks of me moving and taking a new job and you wanting to live together CALL ME to tell me that you didn't love me? "What do you expect? I'm done with this game."

"Well can't we still be friends?! I want to talk to you! I have to talk to you!"

"No." Click.

And I hang up. And I mourn for a long time because he was the first person that really broke my heart and my trust in people. I didn't talk to him for three years and even then that "friendship" lasted a summer, if that because he couldn't take responsibility for what he had done. He admitted it was a screwed up thing, but never said it was him or his fault or that he shouldn't have played the love game if that wasn't what he felt. He had started all of that talk, not me and I felt like if you don't feel that way then don't say it because it builds up the other person, it helps build up their feelings and their hopes and its just cruel because eventually you're going to leave them, so why make them think that they are loved and that you won't?

Four years later, band boy enters my life and we share a lot. Like pretty much every dirty detail of, everything. I open up about this whole thing that happened with Matt. And he tells me how cruel that is and how it was done to him too.

And a year later? Turns around and does the same exact thing. In a text message. And then wants to be friends and BFF and text me all day long and call me as if everything that happened didn't and like it was all okay. Like he did nothing wrong.

Gets me because guys like that really think they did nothing wrong and in turn try to manipulate me into feeling bad because to them *I'M* the one making them the "bad guy," but the reality is they are the bad guy. They were selfish, careless and totally disregarded how their actions were going to make you feel. And just thought that it was all okay because in the end they didn't get hurt and could walk away without a thought in the world. That "we just dated and it didn't work." Really, dude?

I can be friends with people I have "just dated" and even ones I had relationships with that didn't work out. My high school sweetheart and I would have been together 10 years yesterday. We reminded each other of it like we always do, talked and wished each other well deciding that since I was spending it doing work for my masters and he was going to a music fest that it was pretty much on point of how it should be.

That's one thing I admire about my relationship with him. Neither one of us ever took our love away or demeaned the other's feelings or thoughts or the promises we made, but after years of trying, realized it just wasn't it for either of us and found a lifelong friendship instead.

Because when you truly do love someone, it doesn't go away, but sometimes it just evolves into something else all together. But to demean someone, their value or their feelings or to lie to them and play them and then act like its no biggie is just so...you know what? It's so Don Draper.

And really, who wants to be in love with friends with Don Draper?

The Search for Mr. Fabulous: Gifts from the Universe

When you're out there looking to meet the right guy you have to date your way through all of the sludgey toads that cross your path. So, that when you do meet the one, the only Mr. Fabulous, you not only know beyond a shadow of a doubt, but you also appreciate him for all of the wonderful things he does for you that the icky toads never did.

And in the interim, there are guys that the universe gives you as little gifts along the way. They can be the guy that on your worst day just stopped and held the door open for you, or the guy that complimented you when you least expected or if you're really lucky the guy that just takes you out. These little gifts sort of help to restore your faith that he is in fact out there and that no matter how crappy you may feel or even how lonely and frustrated you become, that Mr. Fabulous is out there, waiting to treat you all the time like these little gifts do and that he too is looking for you just like you are looking for him.

I entered the land of dating again last week. I sort of loathed the entire idea. I absolutely hated it to be honest. I mean how many dates and relationships can you go through? That end bad? That hurt you? Like when do you just say enough? I was to that point, but my best friend from college wasn't going to let that happen so she created an online dating profile for me.

Which lasted until last night, but that's a different story. Today's story is about a gift from the universe in the form of a guy. He was older. He was very educated, travelled and cultured. He was on my level which after dating a kid for the past year, it just felt really nice to be out on a date with a grown up. He took me to a crazy expensive restaurant and I ate amazing seafood. The date was awkward and it was clear we both were not meeting Mr. and Miss Fabulous that night, but it was nice to talk to someone who was interested enough in me to take me out and ask me questions about travel and about my life.

And it was even cute for the week that we were talking and he would text me each morning in Italian and I would answer him in French. I know, totally gag worthy, but after this last relationship go-round, I really just needed that awfully cute yet clearly over-educated stuff. I craved it, someone showing an effort just for me.

In the end, it was okay when we both stopped texting. It was never going to be a great romance, but for me it was a little gem that gleamed into my life and reminded me that he is out there...somewhere.

It reminded me of nice it feels to be courted as opposed to having someone chase you down to try to  "hookup" with you to see if it "goes anywhere." That's the big difference I have found between guys my age and men in their thirties, older guys don't even think that that bs hookup culture is how you go about a girl that you like and want to pursue.

And I just love that!

 I know that I'm going to get over all of the bad I have felt even though I am never going to get an apology or even an admission that what my ex did was wrong, selfish, manipulative and absolutely hurtful. It's cool though, it seems the universe has got this. 

I just didn't see the green light...

Ever since I was a child 

I've turned it over in my mind 

I sang by the piano 

Tore my yellow dress and 

Cried and cried and cried 

And I don't want to see what I've seen 

To undo what has been done 

Turn off all the lights 

Let the morning come, come 

Now there's green light in my eyes 

And my lover on my mind 

And I sing from the piano 

Tear my yellow dress and 

Cry and cry and cry 

Over the love of you 

On this champagne-drunken home 

Against the current of gold 

Everybody see I love him 

'Cause it's the feeling that you get 

When the afternoon is set 

On the bridge into the city 

I don't want to see what I've seen 

To undo what has been done 

Turn off all the lights 

Let the morning come 

There's green light in my eyes 

And my lover on my mind 

And I sing from the piano 

Tear my yellow dress and 

Cry and cry and cry 

'Cause your're a hard soul to save 

With an ocean in the way 

But I'll get around it 

'Cause your’re a hard soul to save 

With an ocean in the way 

But I'll get around it 

Now there's green light in my eyes 

And my lover on my mind 

And I sing from the piano 

Tear my yellow dress and 

Cry and cry and cry 

Over the love of you 

Cry and cry and cry 

Over the love of you 

(I can see the green light 

I can see it in your eyes) 

Cry and cry and cry 

Over the love of you 

I can see the green light 

I can see it in your eyes

The Search for Mr. Fabulous: The Fairy Tale to Hold All Fairy Tales

My grandfather died twelve years ago today. His was the first death that really hit me probably because my grandfather was just the best. He would always hug me, play with me and make me feel loved - no matter what. He'd carry me around, call me sweet pea his raspy voice and laugh whenever the kids did something funny.

It was such a deep, happy laugh too. When I think about it now, I just think of comfort and consistency.

And that's just who he was. He was just such a man. He worked hard, he loved his family and was happiest when he was with us.

He also loved my grandmother to absolute pieces. He was about 9 years older than her. He was my age when they met and she was just a teenager, but to this day, she will tell you he is the only man she had ever loved.

My favorite story about my grandparents is that my grandfather had been engaged before he had met my grandmother and gone off to war, when he came home the woman was having a baby with some other guy! Can you believe that? So, my grandfather of course leaves her and sometime later meets and marries my grandmother.

Fast forward to a trip to Coney Island a couple years, after they're married. My grandma at this point is very pregnant with my aunt and she sees my grandfather talking to some girl. She walks over to them, probably as pissed off as my hormonal grandmother could have been and waits. Within seconds, my grandfather bursts into a smile, puts his arm around my grandmother and goes, "And THIS, this is my wife, Helen," oozing with all sorts of adoration and pride at showing her off to the very woman that had probably hurt him very deeply years before that.

That's the kind of man my grandfather was. When he loved, he loved for real and he protected and adored.

My grandmother tells me one other story about my grandfather that moved me to tears. At the time I thought it was because she was telling me this as a means to make me hold out for that kind of love following another relationship ending, but even now, I'm tearing up as I type this.

Twelve years ago when my grandfather was dying and his mind was rattled with dementia, he didn't really know us anymore and it was fleeting glimpses really. But there was one last conversation she had with him where he turned to her one day in the hospital, knowing that his end was in fact coming and said to her, "I'm scared."

Nodding, my grandmother seeks to comfort him. "I know."

"I'm scared for you," he tells her.

She stares at him.

"When I'm gone who will take care of you?"

Mustering up what I feel would need to be a huge amount of strength, my grandmother says to him, "It's okay, John. God will take care of me."

"Then I leave you in God's hands," he replies.

He died a few days later. Even in the end which I am sure is the scariest freaking thing that can ever happen to you, his thoughts were for my grandmother. Now, isn't that the fairy tale? To know that you were loved that much, for so long and even in your partner's final moments, his thoughts were solely of you for a bit.

Every year since then, I visit my grandmother because I can not imagine how horrible this day still must be for her. I couldn't get there this year and we had all but a five minute phone call, but I know she still appreciated that because sometimes you just need someone to care.

She listens to me cry over my breakups, well the big ones that actually bother me, and sometimes I wonder if she wants to slap me because the love she lost seems so much greater than the love that I've had in my life.

I still can't believe it's been 12 years already. It seems like yesterday but in the same time, another life time ago as well.